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Thursday, January 26, 2017

Desiree
lost her heart to Tahl before he moved away, pursuing a redheaded shifter.
Devastated, she somehow managed to hope he got what he needed. Except, being
part Fae, she now believes she’s cursed him. Tahl has returned, unmated,
refusing to share what transpired.

When
Tahl pursues her, realizing what she has always meant to him, Desi desperately
avoids, her guilt—and refusal to be second choice—a deterrent to her heart. Her
twenty-fifth birthday approaches, and hot from the chase, Tahl corners her. He
triggers her heat and she must allow him to assuage it, however outraged and
resentful she might be.

The
redhead follows Tahl, refusing to accept his mating—he can’t be bonded should
his mate die... The males fail to thwart the nefarious plan, and the true
nature of both females is revealed. Only one bitch can win and keep Tahl’s
heart, and Desi won’t lose.

Excerpt:

Now that he was here, he was stalling, and he grimaced. Nothing much
scared him, but the female presumably inside the cabin… He forced his feet to
carry up the short set of stairs and opened the front door with a confidence he
didn’t feel. Until he saw her.

Huddled on the couch, facing him, was his future mate, the most
beautiful thing he’d ever seen—or scented. Cheeks flushed, hair now streaming
in wild abandon and clothing awry, she glared at him, her rage muted by the
trembling need radiating from her tense body.

“Baby. I got here as soon as I could. I—” His attempt at an apology
was overridden as Desi lurched to her feet.

“It’s not fucking fair that I have no recourse in this, Tahl. It’s a
done deal because you decided. You.
And now I’m stuck with you. I have to submit to your … physical attentions so I
can function.” She laughed, a harsh mimicry of her usual, musical burst of sound.
The one he hadn’t heard in his vicinity for a very long time but had never
forgotten. The dichotomy scalded his senses.

She stood, her body shaking, the hormonal flux pouring off of her,
and he balled his fists to keep his hands to himself. A vastly angry Desiree
was an incredibly beautiful and appealing female and his wolf seethed with
impatience against her siren call. Tahl shoved his animal back and cudgeled his brain for something that would
soothe her. Some sense of self-preservation kept him from offering his heart.
It was quite likely she’d carve it out of his chest and eat it with a spoon.

His breath stuttered as with awkward, jerky movements, she yanked at
the front of her silky shirt, the fine fabric rending beneath her impatient
hands. She threw the remnants in the general direction of the couch before
working at the zipper on her little skirt. The garment slid over her thighs to
pool around her ankles, his avid stare tracking it as the black lace of her
matching panties was revealed as well as the long length of her legs. She
stepped out, nearly losing her balance, and kicked the material away.

This was so not how he imagined it. Throat dry, he closed the
distance. “Desiree. Easy, baby. Let me—”

“You’ve done enough, Tahl,” she coughed out between shuddering
breaths. “Now do what nature intended.” Her pretty bra popped open and her
breasts were displayed. Sitting high on her narrow torso, they were in perfect
proportion to the rest of her, though visibly swollen with need, the dark
nipples beaded tightly.

Everything in him screamed to take her right fucking now, his cock
so hard it hurt, his wolf groveling. Groveling.
With inner strength he somehow drew from somewhere, perhaps his conscience,
maybe his aching heart, he wrestled his libido into submission and hugged her
instead. Trying to offer her comfort. His eyes closed against the intense draw
of her soft, silky skin, the heat of her radiating intensely to the very marrow
of his bones.

Desiree wrestled free, wild-eyed and flushed. Surely no other male
would have been so fucking stupid as to trigger his future mate’s heat on the
side of a goddamn highway and then leave her unfulfilled? He cursed himself
again.

She scrabbled at the fine stuff of her underwear and it met the same
fate as her shirt. Tahl drank in his first sight of the female who was his, all
creamy skin and smooth curves, the soft dark hair at her apex neatly trimmed.
But she was shaking harder, out of control, the scent of her arousal
overwhelming him, and instinct took over.

With economic movements, he stripped off his own clothing. Desiree
swayed, her eyes tightly shut as she panted through the tiny whimpers falling
from her lips. He spoke her name even as he gathered her up and bore her down
on the wide, soft couch, but she wouldn’t—or couldn’t—open her eyes.

There was no time, or need, or foreplay. He’d left her too long.
Testing her preparedness with one finger, he grunted his satisfaction. Soaked.
Her thighs opened wide for him as he maneuvered between them, her arms splayed and
her head thrown back. She writhed, her wolf clearly right at the surface, and
her whimpers escalated both in volume and quantity.

Recognizing the time for fucking couldn’t be put off by
conversation, however necessary, he fit the weeping crown of his cock against
her opening. Wet, sultry heat engulfed him as he surged inside on a desperate
thrust. And froze at her muffled yelp.

“Fuck me, baby. Fuck. Me.” He wrapped her up, working his arms
beneath her shoulders to tuck her as tightly against him as he could manage
while holding his cock steady, giving her time to adjust. It was his turn to
screw his own eyes shut in order to concentrate on not moving one fucking iota.
He’d just taken her virginity, and
even his wolf paused in its desperation to claim her.

Allyson Young lives in cottage country in
Manitoba, Canada with her husband and numerous pets. She worked in the human
services all across Canada
and has seen the best and worst of what people bring to the table. Allyson has
written for years, mostly short stories and poetry, published in small
newspapers and the like, although her work appeared in her high school
yearbooks too! After reading an erotic romance, quite by accident, she decided
to try her hand at penning erotica.

Allyson will write until whatever she has
inside her is satisfied- when all the heroes man up and all the heroines get
what they deserve. Love isn’t always sweet, and Allyson favours the darker side
of romance.

Tuesday, January 24, 2017

Rae Ann Compton has been called Rapunzel for the majority of her life. Her floor sweeping honey-blonde hair though had a purpose; she grows it in memory of her mother who died from cancer when she was a small girl. She now owns and operates Rapunzel’s, a high-end hair salon in Hollywood. Her life is orderly and business driven, until the day Alex Princeton, her secret crush walks in.Alex is the quarterback for the Hollywood Hounds, and has been dubbed the Prince of Sunday, by the press. He’s sexy and usually only dates super models. Rae is no super model, but he makes her an offer she can’t refuse and soon she is flying first class to a castle in Germany, for the wedding of the century.Locking this Rapunzel in a tower isn’t going to keep her from the man she knows in her heart belongs to her.

Author Bio:
T Lee Garland lives in Clarksville, Tennessee. One of her first memories as a child is her Uncle Roy giving her a Little Golden book for her Birthday. That’s all it took, she was hooked on reading. She read her first romance book at seventeen and never looked back. She loves a bad boy who doesn’t know how good he really is. As a matter of fact she married one! She loves writing strong female characters who know what they want and aren’t afraid to go after it.

She shares her home with about one hundred Barbies, countless books and movies, a rescued beagle named Samwise Gamgee (Sammie for short) and a plump, elderly cat named Coco. She is most proud of her two sons and the beautiful, talented ladies they married.

And in case you were wondering that Little Golden book is still one of her most priceless treasures…forty-nine years later.

I’m suddenly not feeling so brave. I try not to fidget, but I can’t help but notice that he’s bare-chested, his
abdominal and pec muscles on glorious display. The hastily pulled on
pants are zipped, but not buttoned and barely hang from his hips. I’m
having trouble meeting his gaze. Hell, I’m having trouble breathing.

“I’m messy, am I?” He begins to stalk me. Moving slowly my way,
he’s smooth and precise like a panther on the hunt. “Sweaty?”
I shrug and take a step back and almost trip over my long
dress and heels.

“Shaky?” He keeps coming, and I keep backing up. My knees
feel weak, and I reach behind me for the wall for support.

“Breathless?” he whispers, still coming.

My back finally hits the wall. There is nowhere else to go.
Alex stands in front of me now, and I feel his heat. I smell his
manliness, and his steamy breath washes over me like the first warm
day of spring.

His lips touch mine with a
hunger that leaves us both surprised. He pulls down the strap of my
one shouldered gown, and my breasts pop up like a tart from a toaster
and he growls.

Suddenly we can’t get enough of each other. Our hands are
everywhere. I unzip his pants, and they drop to the floor at his feet. At
the same time he is pulling up my long skirt and ripping off the thin
lacy thong that I wore. He plunges in me, and I cry out, welcoming
the pain. He has me skewered against the wall and he pulls up my legs
and I wrap them around his waist and I lock my ankles.
He touches his forehead against mine. “I’m sorry. I didn’t
mean to hurt you,” he groans, but he never stops pumping into me,
taking me hard and fast. I don’t care that it hurts. I need him, and I let
him know this by giving as good as I am getting. We both cry out
minutes later, so perfectly in sync with each other. I feel his cock
explode inside of me, his cum bouncing off my inner walls.
I gasp with shock. Alex, who never loses control, and never
has unprotected sex, has just forgotten his condom.

Kaden Quinn has life by the balls and enjoys his side job as a Dom in a downtown Boston BDSM club. What he doesn’t want—or need—is a pseudo-sub trying to shred the veil that protects his painful past.

When untamed Livi Risso's insatiable need to get to the bottom of a story leads her to an exclusive kink club, her curiosity ignites upon meeting a restrained Dom who refuses to touch her.

Kaden feigns disinterest while scening, but that doesn’t stop Livi from experiencing intimacy like she’s never imagined. When one misstep leaves Kaden shaken, will Livi be the one to break down his wall against love?

“Bella?” Her head tilted to the side, her eyes slightly widened. “Is that a compliment?”

“You’re Italian, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Then that’s what I’ll call you.” A light flush spread across her high cheekbones and she bit her lower lip. Goddamn cock sprung to full attention. “First thing you ought to know—and should have learned long before entering this club as a sub—your gaze belongs on your Dom’s boots, your knees on the floor.”

The bulge in my leathers snagged her attention as her head lowered and she hesitated. A shudder rippled down through her, but she sank to her knees with practiced ease, a waft of subtle sweetness, what had to be expensive perfume, floating around me. My mouth watered. Long, glossy dark hair cascaded around her downturned face. Her shoulders remained back and straight.

Trying to ignore the press of my goddamn zipper into my cock—and prickle of unease tingling the back of my neck—I glanced across the room at Devon, one of the few Doms who didn’t mind switching.

He lounged in a chair, drink in hand, but otherwise unoccupied. Bella’s appearance had already drawn his attention. He gawked like a starstruck lover at the goddess kneeling at my feet.

The idea of sharing the tasty morsel of a pseudo-sub twisted my gut, but the thought that touching her skin would definitely cause trouble overrode my Neanderthal side.

As though feeling my stare, Devon lifted his gaze to mine.

I quirked a brow in invitation.

He shot out of his seat with a shit-eating grin and strode across the room. He stood a good half-foot shorter than me, but we both had blue eyes, the same light hair, and square jaw… We’d enjoyed our fair share of women fantasizing about brothers.

Tuesday, January 17, 2017

Happy Hump Day, lovelies! I've been a bit absent on social media for the past week or so because I'm working hard to finish my current WIP. It's a Dark Romance (my first in this genre!).

Would love your thoughts!

Enjoy!

In this tease, Grisha (our hero) and Ayla (our heroine), meet in person for the first time. The setting is a disco.

On to the tease!!

“This way.” His fingers skimmed the small of
her back as he led her to the bar. Goosebumps sprouted over her skin.

“I don’t need another drink.”

“Yours ended on the floor. Let me do this for
you. Bloody Mary and whiskey on the rocks,” he ordered. His gaze swept over
her.“I’m sorry, I haven’t introduced myself.”

“I –I know who you are, Mr. Vasiliev.”

He chuckled and handed her the drink.

“Please call me, Grisha.”

His voice was deep, gravelly. His smile
intoxicating. He moved closer and she didn't step back. Was that his cologne
wrapping around her? He smelled spicy, musky and fresh. The urge to bury her
face in his neck and breathe him in wrapped around her. Instead, she took a big
gulp from her drink.

"You're on holidays now, aren't you?"

"More like unemployed,” she mumbled.

“Really? I’d imagined the company you’re with would have
made you an offer. Although they’re not the best in the business.

“I suppose your business is,” she said.

HIs eyes lighted up and he gave her that smirk she'd seen
before. It lighted up his eyes and gave his already masculine features a heady
aura of superiority.

"Of course. We have everything a ballerina like you
could wish. Year round contract, health insurance, our own medical team, the
best teachers.”

“That’s all great, but I’m not sure I’m good enough.”

Grisha sucked in his cheeks. Fire blazed in his eyes.

“Nonsense.” His voice hardened. “Don’t let anyone ever tell
you that.” He leaned over her. “You are the best, Ayla.” His warm breath caressed
her ear. “You don’t dance, you make love on stage.”

A shiver bolted down her spine, fluttered across her stomach
and landed like a throbbing ball between her thighs. Mouth dry, and hands
trembling, she drank some more.

“When I saw you dance I envisioned you on my stage.
Fucking.”

Ayla gasped. Uncertain of what to say, she knocked back some
more of her drink.

“Easy sweetheart. You’re drinking that as if it were water.
Why don’t we go sit down?” Grisha suggested, grasping her hand.

Sunday, January 15, 2017

Happy Sunday, lovelies!Hope your week was fabulous! Mine was extremely busy with the beginning of the academic trimester but I got some good news which I will share soon! Weeee!

Today, I'm continuing to share a snippet from my WIP momentarily titled, "Break me". Thank you for all your comments last week! They were really helpful. Today, I'm skipping a few lines and we're having a look at why Grisha is attending a master class...

Enjoy and have a lovely day!

*This snippet has been edited to keep to guidelines.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Grisha
swept his gaze around the room. His breath caught. There she was. In the front
row, a few feet to the left of Phillip. Ayla Clark. She was his reason for
coming to today’s master class. He’d seen her name in the registry list and he
knew he had to see her.

She was unmistakable in her red leotard with the low
scooped back and black skirt. Her pale skin contrasted sharply with her choice
of outfit. Her dark hair, which she had pulled into a bun, caused her aquiline
nose to stand out. She kept her eyes on Phillip as he demonstrated the
movement.

Alpha's Claim Anthology

The Crimson Rope Anthology

Spanish Diversion

Sinsperationally Yours Anthology

Welcome Aboard

A Decade of Longing

The Mercenary Tales

The Mercenary Knight

The Mercenary Slave (Book 2 of The Mercenary Tales)

The Lost Mercenary (Book 3 of The Mercenary Tales)

Wednesday Briefs

Your Hump Day Free Read

Nanowrimo

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